The Evolutionary Void v-3

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The Evolutionary Void v-3 Page 52

by Peter Hamilton


  Ozzie stomped past him out onto the first-floor landing. “That’s not what I was born to do.”

  “So what with all this daylight, I guess I don’t have to worry myself too much over those vampires,” Aaron said to the legend’s back.

  Inigo and Corrie-Lyn glanced around as Ozzie walked out onto the veranda, looking for all the world like guilty schoolkids. Inigo started to get up. “This wasn’t my idea, but I’m genuinely pleased we can finally-” He began.

  “No shit, asshole.” Ozzie dropped down hard in one of the chairs around the table. He gave the remains of the meal a suspicious look and picked up a tantrene sausage. “Get on with it.”

  “Okay, then. So what’s the plan?” Inigo asked Aaron.

  Aaron sat at the table, trying to project the impression of a reasonable moderator. “My original goal was to take you into the Void,” he told Inigo. “The intention was to establish a link with the Heart or nucleus or whatever it is that has sentient control of high-level functions in there. With that communication channel open, it was hoped to initiate negotiations.”

  Ozzie shrugged. “Makes sense in a lame-ass sort of way. We know we can’t shoot the thing down or blow it up. Who would negotiate?”

  “I’m not aware what form the negotiations were to take. My job was to secure the link. After that … I’d know.”

  “How in the Lady’s name was I supposed to start talking to the Heart?” Inigo asked incredulously. “Haven’t you people shared any of my dreams? You only reach the Heart after you have achieved fulfillment.”

  “There is a methodology, I know,” Aaron said. “That is, I’m certain I have procedures to follow once we get inside.”

  Inigo threw up his hands and slumped back in his chair for a sulk.

  “Told you so,” Corrie-Lyn said smugly. “This whole mission is a complete waste of time. You murdered hundreds of people for nothing.”

  “So why come here, man?” Ozzie asked. “Why me? Everyone who knows me in the Commonwealth knows I don’t do this kind of shit anymore. And your boss knows me, too much.”

  “There are several ways I would expect you to help. One would be an ultradrive ship we can use to fly to the Void.”

  “Dude, you need to stay current. Okay, first off, I don’t have an ultradrive. If I need that kind of shit … well, let’s just say I’ve got an arrangement with ANA. It’ll send me one if I ask. But we can’t ask anymore, can we? Second, your replacement”-he stabbed a forefinger at Inigo-“has just launched.”

  “The Pilgrimage?” Corrie-Lyn asked. There was awe in her voice.

  “Oh, yeah, babe. They’re truly that dumb.”

  “How do you know?” Aaron asked.

  “Myraian grooves all that cruddy gossip from the Commonwealth.”

  “Myraian? The lady upstairs?”

  “Yeah. The lady upstairs. Who, I’ll tell you for free, is mighty peed off with all of you right now, not least over mindspace crashing, so watch your mouth. I got a private TD link from the Spike to the Commonwealth. So even if you’re out of my gaiafield’s range, you can still get to dig what Araminta’s been doing.”

  Inigo ignored the jibe about the gaiafield. “It will take them months to reach the Void, so-”

  Ozzie’s harsh laughter cut him off. “Seriously, man, you need to get current. I’m going to open my house net for you to access. Catch up, and we’ll talk again in the morning. You know, before you leave in a cloud of gloom and defeat.”

  He left them on the veranda and went back upstairs. At the last he opened his gaiamotes a fraction.

  Inigo didn’t like the arrogance he exuded one little bit; it verged on smugness. Standard communication icons were slipping up into his exovision as the house’s nodes acknowledged his u-shadow. “We’d better see what’s been going on,” he said.

  “Yeah,” Aaron agreed. His gaiamotes gave nothing away, but he sounded troubled.

  Ozzie’s temper had improved slightly when he came down for breakfast the next morning. That was deliberately quite a while after he’d woken the first time. He and Myraian had gone at it the way they had the night before, and after that he’d dozed contentedly for an hour. Then there was a shower-none of that modern itchy spore crap that clogged up his hair but a proper hot water and scented gel affair. Myraian hadn’t joined him, which was a shame, but you couldn’t have everything in life. Well, actually you could if you’d lived as long as he had, but then you learned not to be too demanding of people. They were transient enough without the stresses and strains everyone unwittingly put on a relationship. It had taken a long time for him to learn why it was women never stayed with him beyond a couple of decades, so now he knew how to treat them right. Or at least fake treating them right.

  Myraian was dressed and ready when he finally came out of the bathroom in his shorts and T-shirt. She’d resequenced herself back to her mid-twenties, then tweaked various chromosomes to produce a great figure, which, in combination with a mind that was away mushrooming with fairies most of the time, made her utterly irresistible to him. No accounting for some things, but she’s perfect for me at this time of life. He took an enjoyable look at the thin ankle-length skirt of sky-blue cotton and the black mesh shirt that with her skin color made it look like she was wearing nothing at all. Her skinlight patterns shone through the thin weave, creating weird diffusion ripples.

  “Cool combo,” he told her. “Kinda earth mother meets dominatrix.”

  “Thank you.” She shook her hair, allowing the long blond, auburn, and pink tresses to sway around her head in an underwater slow motion as the fluff fronds elevated it.

  And no way was he ever putting them in no matter how much she nagged. “Let’s go catch them crying into their teacups.”

  She pouted. “You should stay up here. I’ll teach them not to bully my baby Ozzie.”

  “They’re not nice people,” he told her again, hoping it registered this time. “Don’t let them bug you. And really, man, don’t get cross with them. I don’t want any of that.”

  “I’ll eat them up, scrummy yummy,” she promised.

  “Yeah.” Okay, maybe it’s not so much the mind that’s the attraction.

  He found Aaron, Inigo, and Corrie-Lyn in the lounge, slouched across the couches and looking slightly dazed like a bunch of students from his time at Caltech pulling an all-nighter. The only thing missing was the pizza boxes. They did stare a little at Myraian but didn’t say anything. Ozzie wasn’t really surprised when it was Corrie-Lyn who rounded on him first. She reminded him of not a few ex-wives.

  “You knew! You knew you were going to die in the expansion, and you won’t do anything to help us?” she barked.

  “I normally have orange juice, coffee, and toast for breakfast. Man, the old habits are the hardest to break, don’t you find?” His u-shadow gave the culinary unit its instructions.

  She just growled at him.

  “You don’t get it,” Ozzie told her. “You don’t get me. Dude, I’m over one and a half thousand years old. I’ve seen it all, and I do mean all! I can live with dying.”

  “But what about the rest of the galaxy? All the people who don’t get a chance to live as you have? The children?”

  “Wow! Dude, big shift there from one of the most truly devout Living Dream disciples ever.”

  “Cleric Councillor,” Myraian said distantly as her hair fronds swam about lazily. “The Dreamer’s lover. Chief prosecutor in the Edgemon heresy tribunal.”

  “That was not-” Corrie-Lyn ground to a halt, furious.

  “If you’re so worried about what you’ve unleashed on the rest of us, why don’t you rush into your precious Void and be safe?” Ozzie challenged.

  “Enjoy your victory,” Inigo said softly. “The Void is not our salvation. I was wrong to hold it out as a symbol of attainable Nirvana, of a life that can be perfect. It is none of those things. I. Was. Wrong.”

  “Crap,” Ozzie muttered. It wasn’t often he was rendered speechless, but a messiah renou
ncing his life’s work, well, that would just do it every time. “I’ll make that a big pot of coffee. You’d better all join me for breakfast.”

  “We all understand the Void threat well enough,” Aaron said as the maidbots slid around the table in the kitchen, delivering plates and cups. “I’m interested in your take on whatever Ilanthe has become. That could be a big factor in the expansion.”

  “She was the leader of the Accelerator Faction,” Ozzie said as he accepted his glass of chilled orange juice from the maidbot. “The original idea was that they elevate themselves up to postphysical status courtesy of the Void. Thing is”-he scratched at his hair-“the Accelerator Faction is trapped behind the Sol barrier along with the rest of ANA, so they can’t pull off their whole Fusion concept. And the Silfen Motherholme is worried about her, which is new to me. Nothing gets that placid goddess riled. Nothing. Till now. Draw yourself a map.”

  “The Silfen Motherholme?” Corrie-Lyn asked cautiously.

  “Sure, babe. I’m a Silfen Friend.” He tried not to sound too smug, settling for merely superior. “I know what’s going down across the galaxy.”

  “Ozzie is the father of our species’ mind,” Myraian announced; her skinlight glowed a proud mauve.

  There was a polite silence for a moment.

  “Of everything that’s happened, I find her involvement the most disturbing,” Inigo said. “It was inevitable Living Dream would be corrupted and manipulated after I turned it over to the Cleric Council-that was the point of me abandoning it as I did. But I never envisaged anything like this. Ultradrives, unbreakable force fields … this was not meant to be.”

  Aaron turned to Ozzie. “Do you know anything about these technologies?”

  “Not really my field,” Ozzie said quietly. He waited.

  “It used to be,” an omnidirectional voice spoke up. Ozzie let out an exasperated breath. It was his own voice. “Just shut the fuck up,” he told it.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Nobody can run from their past. Not forever, dooode.”

  “What is this?” Aaron asked.

  “I told you, dude,” Ozzie said with an edge. “I’m ancient. Human bodies aren’t designed with this kind of life span in mind. Grab the ‘in mind’ bit there? Back in the first-era Commonwealth when all we had was rejuve, we used to edit memories and store the ones that weren’t important. Then there was memorycells and neural augmentation chips. Biononics added a whole load of new memory capacity. And there’s always an expanded mentality network.” He raised his head and glared at a random point on the ceiling. “That’s if you want to carry all that junk around, contaminating your body. I didn’t. Not anymore.”

  “So he dumped me,” the voice said. “Literally. I’m Ozzie. The real Ozzie.”

  “You’re a goddamn me-brain-in-a-jar, and don’t you forget it,” Ozzie told it crossly.

  “Seriously,” the voice said. “I’m one and a half thousand years of memories, while you’re what? Twenty years’ worth? Who’s the most real of them all?”

  “Only one of us got to keep the personality, man,” Ozzie shouted back. “I’m the biochemical, hormonal, awkward, sonofabitch soul of a human. You’re the hardwired copy that’s frozen in the past.”

  “You can mouth off all you like, but I’m the one with the knowledge and talent that these fine and sincerely desperate people need. You got rid of all the serious physics and math and shit clogging up your little meat brain. Admit it, tell them. Be a man. As much as you can be with so much missing.”

  “Ozzie lacks nothing,” Myraian said calmly. “He has purged himself at a spiritual level to make himself complete again. You are the contamination that was holding him back, preventing the angel within from spreading his wings. He’s been clean for decades now and has grown because of it.” She smiled widely.

  Ozzie caught the narrowing of Aaron’s eyes as he noticed the tiny fangs that that otherwise blissful smile revealed.

  Aaron blinked and put his hands down on the table. “Okay. Please tell me you can access and assimilate whatever knowledge you need from … you?”

  “From the me-brain-in-a-jar? Sure. I retained autonomous integration for the smartcores I stuffed it into-me into.”

  Inigo gave Ozzie a bemused grin; there was respect in there, too. “I’m sure you can. But let’s face it: There’s you, me, and him.” He jabbed a thumb at Aaron. “A smart-ass smartcore and a reasonably good replicator. Doesn’t matter how good we all are in combination, we’re not going to bootstrap ourselves a superweapon to smash open the Sol barrier or an even faster ultradrive that’ll get us to the Void before Araminta charges in. And that’s not even talking about the Ilanthe-thing.”

  “Yeah,” Ozzie admitted. “But man, on the plus side, I can get us out of here safely. Qatux owes me. The High Angel will stop by and collect us on its way to Andromeda or wherever the hell it’s going.”

  “No,” Aaron said. “You’re not abandoning hope after half an hour. And I don’t believe I even have to threaten anyone or anything to make that come about, now, do I?”

  “No,” Inigo sighed.

  “Our goal is to connect you somehow to the Void Heart,” Aaron said. “Now, I’m not the greatest self-thinker anymore, but you’re the smartest guys I know with the weirdest of blessings. You’ll come up with something.”

  “Fair enough,” Inigo said. “What about your telepathy effect, Ozzie? Can we talk to the Void that way?”

  Ozzie shoved the empty glass away and reached for the plate of toast. “Okay, this is how it works. The gaiafield is a broadcast medium. You transmit your thoughts out through the motes, and they zip across space to connect with everyone else’s motes. Confluence nests are just powerful amplifiers and relay stations; they’re what turn it into a ‘field.’ Admittedly, it’s a big field, but step outside the Commonwealth and you’re on your own. Now, there are other, similar fields out there, with the Silfen communion the biggest of them all. It’s truly galaxy-spanning, dude. I know, I’m tuned in. But it’s not so dense as the gaiafield. That’s because of species psychology; the superelves don’t have the same urge to carry every piece of boring stream-of-consciousness drivel that humans crave.”

  “So?” Aaron asked.

  “We can’t use the gaiafield. It can’t extend to the center of the galaxy.”

  “Not quite right,” Corrie-Lyn said. “The Pilgrimage fleet will be dropping a series of confluence nests en route. That was always the plan, and Ethan won’t change that aspect. They’ll do for the gaiafield the same as the navy TD relays did for Centurion Station. The idea is to open a permanent dream channel to the Void so the faithful who weren’t in the fleet can witness everyone reaching fulfillment and rush to follow them.”

  “And the instant we try using that, Ethan will shut it down,” Inigo said.

  “Last resort,” Corrie-Lyn said. “The hack might last long enough, especially as it’s you, the true original Dreamer. You still have more clout than anyone else in the movement.”

  “I doubt that now that Araminta has appeared,” Inigo said.

  “Yeah, useful to know,” Ozzie agreed. “Okay, mindspace. Now, that’s something different. I rearranged spacetime’s quantum structure so that it becomes a conductor for thought, same as air conducts sound. Admittedly, it works best for human thoughts; that’s what I worked with to synchronize it with at the beginning. Aliens are aware of it, but for them it’s like the Silfen communion is for humans: vague. Unless you’re the goddamned Chikoya, then you think it’s a doorway into the thoughts of your ancestors. What is it about avian culture that makes them worship their ancestors like that? It’s got to be a hundred thousand years since their wings were big enough to actually carry them, yet every space habitat they ever built is zero-gee so they can flap about with all the grace of a chicken falling off a wall. Even here they’re in a lograv compartment.”

  “They will find enlightenment in the end,” Myraian said. “You are worthy of that. Your galactic dream will
lead all of us out of the darkness.”

  “Thanks, babe,” he said. “The point of it was to have something which allows people to share their thoughts in a more open way. Confluence nests contaminate the purity of thoughts; they allow distortions, partial thoughts with the emphasis where the originator desires, perverting the whole truth.”

  “Do we have to do this now?” Corrie-Lyn asked with deceptive lightness.

  “Just telling you the why of it so you’ll understand. That’s the reason I set up mindspace. But both notions have the same problem: reach. Bluntly, they need power to stretch that far.”

  “What powers the mindspace?” Inigo asked.

  Ozzie winced. “Ah, well, see, I kinda adjusted the Spike’s anchor mechanism to propagate the change to spacetime which makes mindspace work. There’s a device, sort of a parasite, really. But its emissions aren’t directional; you can’t squirt it around like a laser. The whole concept of mindspace was to embrace all sentient entities in the galaxy.”

  “But it doesn’t,” Aaron said curtly. “Aliens have trouble utilizing it.”

  “Yeah, well, this is the marque one, dude. I just need to do some fine-tuning is all. The theory works.”

  “He’s had decades,” the voice from the house’s smartcores said. “All he’s done around here since we built the anchor modifier is bum around finding his inner geek. Progress zero.”

  “Hey, screw you,” Ozzie snarled. “Experimenting on alien brains might be your bang, but it ain’t mine, not anymore.”

  “You don’t have to experiment on anything. You were just frightened, that’s all. Frightened different minds and exotic thoughts would find a way of corrupting mindspace the way the gaiafield went.”

  “I’m observing the psychosocial implications of mindspace’s impact on alien cultures, and you goddamn well know that. A genuine galactic dream isn’t something you rush into. I made that mistake before.”

  “And the kind of freaks who come to the Spike for refuge are such good representatives of their societies.”

  “Damn, I used to be a bigot.”

 

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